


Part 36: #8704

by oiuytrewq36



Series: Let's Hear It for the Boy [10]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26855728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oiuytrewq36/pseuds/oiuytrewq36
Summary: First impression of New York: it sucks. Like, it really, really sucks. It’s cold and dirty and big enough to get lost in without even trying, not at all the sparkling paradise my agent promised me, and the audition was a bust anyway, I knew the moment I walked in the room - flunk enough times and you know the look on a producer’s face when they decide not to hire you on sight - so I skip the fancy dinner I’m supposed to be having and try to find something approximating Nashville food instead.
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Series: Let's Hear It for the Boy [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928482
Comments: 13
Kudos: 28





	Part 36: #8704

First impression of New York: it sucks. Like, it really, really sucks. It’s cold and dirty and big enough to get lost in without even trying, not at all the sparkling paradise my agent promised me, and the audition was a bust anyway, I knew the moment I walked in the room - flunk enough times and you know the look on a producer’s face when they decide not to hire you on sight - so I skip the fancy dinner I’m supposed to be having and try to find something approximating Nashville food instead.

I end up with some flavorless jerk chicken served for too much money on a faux-designer plate, but I’m hungry and everyone knows singers can’t have too little self-respect on the day of a failed audition, so I eat all of it and the slice of (marginally better) apple pie I order for dessert.

Eventually, I decide that since I’m here, I might as well take advantage of the urban East Coast’s one real feature: honest-to-God gay clubs, and not underground ones either. I find a huge club in Hell’s Kitchen playing music that I can hear half a block away, and wait in line for forty-five minutes to pay the eye-watering cover charge. 

Inside, it’s packed, bodies grinding and sliding together under flashing lights. Some people are half-naked, some - I think - are fully naked, and most of them seem to be having the time of their lives, so I wade through the mass of flesh to the bar and order a double screwdriver (yeah, I’m trashy, fuck you) in the hopes of achieving something similar.

I’m scanning the room for promising options, trying not to get too distracted by a mid-size laser show that’s just started on the ceiling, when a low voice at my elbow pulls me away.

“For a person at the best party in the Northern Hemisphere, you don’t seem to be having very much fun.”

I look over and see a, wow, _very_ hot guy, tight t-shirt over his defined torso, floppy blond hair, sexy abstract tattoos. “How do you know it’s the best?”

He gives me a blinding smile. “Because I’ve been to all the others.”

Trying not to be impressed - it’s probably just a line, anyway - I nod and finish my drink.

When I turn back, he’s still there, looking at me with this piercing gaze that I’m going to have a very hard time saying no to. He smiles again, much less innocent this time. “Want to dance?”

“Sure,” I say, and he drags me out onto the floor, pressing right up against me inside the throng. This close to him, I now know some new things, like that he’s shorter than I thought, and also, fuck, _hung_ , cock a big hot line against my thigh. He watches me drooling over him with an amused look on his face for a few minutes, steady hands on my hips, and then he leans in and murmurs, “Ever had a threesome?”

I make a very undignified noise, and he laughs, soft and sexy, shifting even closer. “No,” I say, when I can unscramble my brain enough.

“Want to try one?” he asks, still giving me that keen, slightly humorous look. “My husband’s around somewhere. He’d like you a lot.”

When I don’t answer, he pulls back, hands still on me, and adds, “No problem if you’re not into that, though. I wouldn’t mind having you all to myself.”

He licks his lips, and I damn near pass out. 

“Is he- your husband-” I say, feeling more tongue-tied than I was the first time Bobby Forester felt me up under the bleachers in freshman year, “Is he as hot as you are?”

The guy just laughs, soft pretty mouth stretching open in a way that I’m trying not to think too hard about. “I think so, but don’t tell him that. His ego’s big enough as it is.”

He tugs me across the dance floor, weaving expertly through the crowd, until we reach an iron staircase leading up to the first tier. There’s a tall older guy leaning against the side, freshly-fucked hair and slim muscular body and fuck-off expression all combining into something that makes me want to bend over for him before he even notices me.

“Um,” I say, intelligently, and my blond friend laughs. The tall one looks over at us and smiles, predatory, at me, expression changing to something more genuine and complicated when he looks at the man next to me.

“So,” the blond one says, “what do you think?”

“Yes,” I squeak, and add, pathetically, “please.”

Tall Guy laughs and walks the short distance over to us while my pants, already painfully tight, reach vacuum-sealed levels of discomfort. The two of them surround me, kissing each other with full, filthy tongue as the three of us dance, me in the middle of a beautiful-men sandwich. Then Blond Guy says something about going back to their condo while Tall Guy rubs my throbbing dick with cruelly perfect pressure, and I decide that maybe New York isn’t so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, sandwiches are named after the fillings and not the bread, but the metaphor makes me happy and it’s structurally important that this character not have a name, so deal with it.


End file.
